


The Importance of Leather Jackets

by lwm



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Nine's Jacket - Freeform, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:38:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwm/pseuds/lwm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor finds Rose in the wardrobe room wearing a familiar jacket. Things happen...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Importance of Leather Jackets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookyknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyknight/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Spooky! Sorry this is so late. Like a year...  
> Also special thanks to KK for beta-ing this for me.

He finds her in the wardrobe room wearing his old floppy hat and his leather jacket that is almost as long on her as her short slip of a dress underneath.

As she bends over to look at the celery on his cricket coat that so called nightie slips up under the jacket, making it very easy for him to imagine that it’s all she’s wearing.

“Rose wha –” His throat feels dry and he quickly swallows. “What are you doing here?” he asks, leaning an arm against a hat stand, trying to appear casual and not at all affected by her long lean legs.

She looks at him over her shoulder before straightening up. He can’t help but notice not all of her nightgown has slipped back down. “Was feeling a bit lost and ended up here,” she says, shrugging her shoulders

“And you decided to play dress up?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and quirking his lips up into a teasing grin.

She blushes as she picks at the sleeve of his leather jacket. “No, I…things have been going well for us, yeah? But before that”– she waves her hand in a vague sweep –“with Mickey leaving and the stuff before…” Sharply, she shakes her head as if tasting something bitter. “Guess I’ve just been feeling a bit confused lately.”

She looks up at him, biting her bottom lip as she smiles, fiddling with the buttons of the coat. “And I thought…I thought –” Her smile falls; her hands still. “I –” Blushing, she takes off his hat and her hair falls in a cascade of tangled waves.  The tips of his finger itch to touch it, tidy it up, and then make it messy all over again. “Never mind. It was a stupid idea.”

He’s about to tell her it’s not, that he thinks it’s rather sweet  that she wants to feel close to him – all of him not just the one she used to know – but then she starts to unbutton his jacket and the words dry up on his tongue and are swallowed back down.

Ever since Sarah Jane, he had been trying to establish boundaries with Rose. But the more lines he drew in the proverbial sand, the more he wanted to step on them, scuff his shoes across them, and have them wash away into the sea until he was finally standing toe-to-toe with her.  Although these days, he’d prefer mouth-to-mouth.

“Doctor?”

Blinking awake from his reverie, his gaze shifts from its narrow focus on her lips to take her all in. The jacket is open and one sleeve is half-way down along with the thin spaghetti strap of her pink cotton gown exposing a bare freckled shoulder. Rose tilts her head to the side, furrowing her brow.  

The Doctor loosens his tie, trying to cool the sudden rise in his temperature.

During the Time War saying ‘I love you’ became synonymous with ‘Goodbye’; he still has trouble disassociating the two and doubts he’ll ever be ready to say the words. But after all the upheaval they’ve had and survived, he’s come to the decision that he wants to try to have more with Rose. Show her even if he can’t tell her. The trouble is he’s not entirely sure how to make that leap and has been half hoping Rose would take the lead.

Their last few outings had been to calm idyllic locations – aside from a miscalculation with Elvis and a devil beneath a rock – as he subtlety attempted to woo Rose. But it had all been in vain if she still had her head filled with doubts from past indiscretions instead of focusing on their present. At least it explained why all those chances he’d given her to kiss him (zipping out on his Vespa like a rock star, letting himself get knocked out, and even talking about mortgages) had failed.       

Rose shifts and the weight of the jacket pulls at her nightgown, revealing the top of her breast. For once his big Time Lord brain stumbles to a halt and suddenly he’s blurting out “Want to have sex?” before he can process the words.

Both their cheeks turn a bright red and he tries to find something, anything to say besides a panicked “Uhh” that seems to change in pitch the longer it goes on.

“You mean in general?” Rose asks, relieving him of some of his burden. Although he wishes she’d just ignore it completely even if it meant laughing at him.

“No,” he squeaks and then clears his throat. “I mean yes. No, wait, I mean…” He spins towards the racks of clothes and quickly latches on to the first thing he sees. “Have you seen this coat, Rose?” he asks, reaching for a bright multi-coloured jacket. “People would take one look at it and assume I was a clown. Imagine me as a clown! Mind you there was that one time on Zaria III where I had to juggle my way out of trouble.” He knows he’s babbling, but he can’t stop. At least not until Rose gets that funny look out of her eyes.

For a moment, he contemplates just leaving her there. It might be rude, but he’s supposed to be rude this time round. The only problem is his feet don’t seem to want to cooperate.

Moving up behind him, Rose places a hand on his shoulder startling him as she gently turns him towards her. “Do _you_ want to have sex?” she asks with a raised eyebrow, her hand drifting from his shoulder down his arm.

He shivers, the hairs on his arms rising, and is forced to casually adjust his stance as he looks away from her to calm his racing hearts. But it doesn’t help. As his gaze darts around the room, his mind is busy calculating all the possible angles and potential surfaces they could use. So far the velvet ottoman seems like the best choice, unless he tosses the fur coat he used in his second generation on the floor.

Gently brushing past her, he goes to reach for it when hears her heavy resigned sigh. He peeks at her and sees her arching her back as she pulls the jacket open to slip it from her shoulders.

“No,” he says, voice rough causing Rose to still her movements. The idea of taking her in that jacket, the slight creak of leather as they rock back and forth, cocooning them both, tips him over the edge. “Leave it on. Bu-but only that. I mean if, if you want. That is to -” He starts to wave his hands between them, but seeing her standing there with a little crinkle between her eyebrows, he ducks his head and roughly ruffles his hair instead. “You don’t have to of course. But I would be delighted, honoured-”

She cups his face between her palms and the first puff of her breath whispers against his mouth. Her lips are not perfectly soft. He can feel the spot where she’s worried her teeth against them. It has a slightly drier edge that gives way to smoother skin. She presses closer and slips her tongue against his lips. He opens his mouth and lets her in.

As her tongue slides against his, he can taste the sharp citrus bite of marmalade and sweet milky tea. It’s a strange combination, but one he’s quickly becoming fond of as he rolls his tongue around hers. He thinks he may have to buy a few more jars of that tart, tangy jam so he can always taste this moment with Rose.

When she steps back, breaking their kiss, his head instinctively follows, trying to recapture her lips. It’s not fair that she should get to explore his mouth, but not let him run his tongue along her teeth as she has him. But as she turns away from him, the Doctor’s back snaps straight and he raises his eyebrows, nervously clearing his throat.

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiles and holds her arms behind her. “Need a little help,” she says, wriggling her shoulders and causing the jacket to slowly slip. “I can’t shimmy out of my nightie with this still on.”

He opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally settling on just grabbing the collar of the jacket.

“No peeking,” she warns, sliding her arms free.

Lifting his head, he looks at the top of the spiral staircase in the middle of the wardrobe room and tries to remember the number of steps (an impossible feat with his temperamental ship) before settling on some recreational maths (anything with numbers to keep him away from waxing poetry by Emily Dickinson or W.B. Yeats).

But then he catches a glimpse of Rose’s gown as it’s tossed away and a line from Adrian Henri’s poem pops into his head - _Love is pink nightdresses still slightly warm_. And before he can stop himself, he’s remembering other lines from _Love Is_ – walking holding paint stained hands, fish and chips on winter nights, and white panties lying all forlorn. He’s not overly keen on the parts where to lovers are leaving at dawn or the metaphors of transcendental love. He’s going to have to deal with that one day, but not now, not when the artificial floral scent of her hair is so close and the dizzying swirl of her pheromones are dancing in the air.

Curling his fingers around the edge of the collar, he’s startled by the warmth of Rose’s bare skin grazing his knuckles and his head snaps downs.   

“Doctor?” she asks, trying to gently tug the jacket free from his grip.

“Sorry, I –” Letting go of the collar, his fingers brush against her skin, feeling a shock like static electricity, as his hands fall to his sides.

Rose turns, holding the jacket closed with one hand, her normal pink hue turning a few shades darker. “It’s all right, Doctor.” She takes his right hand in hers, rubbing her thumb against the back of it. “We don’t have don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”

“Do you not want to?” he asks, raising one eyebrow, fingers clenching around hers.

Her lips stretch wide, showing off her slight overbite. “Think you’ll find I’m the one without anything on.”

“Yes, right of course. Not really fair that is it?” he says, toeing off his shoes. “I should…” He steps on the tips of his socks, trying to pull them off as he tugs with shaky hands at his tie.

Rose wraps her arms around herself, bending over as she burst into loud guffaws of laughter while the Doctor hops and hobbles about, nearly crashing into a rack with all his velvet coats.

“You could help,” he grumbles when he’s finally free of his tie and socks and yanks his oxford from his trousers, grateful he didn’t bother with undershirt today. Just as he’s about to start on his buttons, he freezes.

For a moment, the jacket had slipped open as Rose straightened and he caught a glimpse of dark honey brown hair. He thinks it’s fitting that Rose should be light on top and dark below as if representing the yin and yang of her nature as his swollen cock presses harder against the zip of his trousers.   

She pulls the jacket closed and walks towards him. Even under the thick, heavy coat he can see the swing of her hips. “If you need help, all you have to do is ask,” she smiles, reaching for the top button of his shirt.  

Until now Rose had seemed so confident, but as he watches her – cheeks flushed, tongue between her teeth, brow furrowed – he can’t help the way his hearts skip and his smile widens every time she fumbles with a button and mutters a curse.      

As she starts to push his shirt and suit jacket off his shoulders, the Doctor leans down to kiss the middle of her forehead, then above her eyebrow, and the side of her eye, inordinately pleased he can kiss her.  

Laughing, she swats his bare chest, the slight sting of her palm unexpectedly pleasurable. “Stop it or I’ll never get these off.” She looks up at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “And you wouldn’t want that now would you, Doctor?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” he says, trying to nuzzle his nose towards her ear, but the strands of her hair tickle too much and he pulls away before he sneezes (very unromantic). “You’re usually very good at figuring things out. Well”– he leans back, wanting to tug his ear but his hands are trapped behind him –“except for some of our recent adventures,” he frowns, thinking about all the clues he gave her so they could have gotten to this stage sooner. “But otherwise, you’re very –” His shirt and jacket fall to the floor. He glances behind at them. “Did you just –”

“Deliberately asked a question so your gob would keep you distracted?” Rose taps her chin, pretending to pounder. “Possibly.”

“That’s my Rose,” he grins, leaning his head down to run his tongue along her bottom lip as he wraps his arm around her waist to he pull her closer, ignoring the discomfort of the buttons pressing against his chest.

The leather feels odd against his skin without his woolen jumper in between. As he runs his hands down her back, he can feel the parts where it’s begun to crack and wear from one wash too many like the calluses on his hands.

Rarely did he keep any article of clothing from one regeneration to the next, but after everything he had done during the war, it had felt right to keep some physical reminder of all his sins. When he first put it on his new body, the weight of the jacket had felt as if it was made from iron forged in the heart of white dwarf star. But gradually, thanks to the woman who now wore it, his burdens had been easier to bear and iron softened back to leather.     

Rose hums and the tiny vibrations zip along his nerves making his cock throb and his balls ache as his toes curl and his fingers twitch against her back. The blunt edge of her nails scrap along his skin as she grips the waistband of his trousers and slides her fingers along, searching for the hook-and-bar fastener.

Jerking his hips back before she reaches the front of his trousers, he tugs her hand away, settling it on his waist.

She pulls back, her breaths coming out in quick pants causing the jacket to rub against him. “Doctor?”

“Not yet,” he murmurs.

In retaliation, she bits his bottom lip, sucks it between her teeth, and then slowly releases it. He groans against her mouth as he reaches one hand to twist and tangle in her hair, feeling the patches where she’s held the flat iron too long like threads of cotton mixed in with silken strands, while his other hand drifts towards her chest. 

He tugs her hair, gently pulling them apart to rests his forehead against hers, soft puffs of breaths warming each other’s cheeks.  Opening his eyes, he watches her as he cups and gently squeezes her breast through the leather jacket. “Do you feel that, Rose Tyler?” he asks, curling her name in a Northern burr.

Eyes closed, she licks her lips. “Yes,” she rasps as her fingers skim down his back until they find the small gap in the waistband of his trousers and the soft skin of his arse.

His muscles clench, breath hissing out slow and low as her fingers stroke up and down. Gritting his teeth, trying to regain his focus, he slips his hand inside the coat feels the warm edge of her breast before gently holding it in his hand. “Do you feel that, Rose Tyler?” he asks with Estuary tones, running his thumb across her nipple and around her areola in slow eccentric circles.

She bites her bottom lip as she moans and arches against him, her nails digging into him.

His hand jerks, roughly tugging her nipple, but her breathless “Oh!” and the roll of her hips against his let him know she doesn’t mind. “Rose?” he asks again, voice rough.

“Yes,” she gasps.

He wraps his hand around her waist and uses his elbow hold the jacket slightly open, but never showing her out of its shadow. Stepping between the edges, he presses against her warmth, feeling the hard peaks of her breasts against the soft hairs of his chest. “What do you feel?” he asks, pulling her hips against the hard bulge of his trousers. 

She opens her eyes, looking up at him; the corner of her lips twitch upwards. “Your trousers.”

“My –” He pulls back from her, his lower lip sticking out (but most definitely not in a pout). “Rose, I’m trying to be symbolic.”

“It might work better without your trousers,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

The Doctor sighs and drops his hands. “Oh fine,” he grumbles turning away from her.

Palms damp and hearts beating to the leaps and twirls of the jitterbug rather than a samba, he grips his waistband and looks over his shoulder. “Rose?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Could you –” He turns his head away sharply, cheeks turning as bright as the red grass on Gallifrey. “Could you close your eyes for a moment?” he asks.

Peeking at her, he sees she’s about to make a teasing remark before suddenly clutching the edges of the jacket closed as if just remember her own state of undress.  “Right. Yes, of course,” she says, closing her eyes, her cheeks matching his own in colour.

He waves a hand in front of her and then starts on his zip, briefly noting a small damp patch from where he rubbed against her. It’s a relief to toss the last of his pinstripes away, freeing himself from its tight restraints. His cock bobs before him long and hard, a drop of pre-cum at its tip, which he quickly wipes away worried Rose might think him some callow youth than a disciplined Time Lord.

Quickly he turns around and tugs the edges of the coat as he slips back between the warm folds.       

“You,” she gasps.

“What?” he asks, voice tight, distracted by the soft swell of Rose’s stomach against his hard cock.

“Now, I can feel you,” she moans, grinding against him.

“Sort of lost the moment,” he squeaks gripping her perky bum, unable to decide if he wants to stop her or encourage her.

“So hard to please,” she murmurs, swiping her tongue up along his Adam’s apple.

“I’m rather afraid I won’t be,” he huffs as he feels another droplet forming on his tip; he should have known she’d be the ruin of his control.

Rose giggles and starts to lower herself down.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” he says, following her, their knees bumping into each other’s. “I really, I –” She’s slipped an arm from the sleeve of the jacket and lightly wraps her hand around him. The Doctor lands on his knees with a thump, his cock slipping from her grasp. “You’re very warm,” he says looking up at her with eyes as dark as the universe around them.

She settles on her knees before him. “And you’re cool.”

“Not too cold, I hope.”

“No, I like it.” She glides the back of her hand along a thin trail of hairs down the ridges of his abs, stopping near the top of his cock where it rests slightly curved and proud against his stomach. “Are you sure you don’t want –”

He grabs her hand and kisses the back of it. “I’m sure.”

 “Is it –” She hesitates, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Is it a Time Lord thing? Or do you not like oral?”

“No, no, it’s not like that. It’s –”

It would be lie to say he hasn’t thought of her mouth wrapping around him, tongue pressing down the vein of his cock, nose brushing against his hairs as she swallows him down. But the idea of her at his feet, especially in that jacket, squeezes his hearts. She is the last person in the universe he would ever want to see kneel before him, even if it was out of love.

“It’s...I…”He trails his fingers down the column of her neck to her collar bones, and then down the sides of her breasts. “I want you,” he says, dodging her question with a different truth. He slips his hands to her narrow waist and guides her sideways to lie against the floor and then gently rolls her onto her back.

She slips her arm free from the sleeve of the jacket and brushes the labels aside, no longer hiding behind the dark leather.

He had wanted to take her in that leather jacket, use it to offer them both a little protection, but seeing her like this – hair spread out in a tangled mess; eyes dark and half-lidded; lips red and slightly swollen; and skin, from her cheeks down to the soft hairs covering her sex, flushed a rosy hue – he decides some things are better left in the past.   

His hearts pound against his chest like two castanets as she bends a knee and lets her leg fall open, inviting him to come rest between her thighs. The musky sent of her arousal tickles his nose causing his mouth water with want and his muscles to tighten as he licks his lips.

“Rose Tyler,” he says in awe, his gazing darting about wanting to take in every little detail from the freckle between her breasts to the arch of her foot. He wants to feel every dip and bump with the pads of his fingers and the press of his lips. “You are magnificent,” he sighs, leaning down to kiss the tip of her nose.

She strokes the side of his face along his sideburns and around his ears. “Magnificent? Don’t think I’ve heard you use that before.” Raising her head, she licks the seam of his lips, teases the corners, nips lightly on his full lower one.

“I’ll save it just for you,” he grins and then moves down her body to that charming freckle on her chest, whispering a brief ‘Hello’ to it, before turning to nuzzle her breast. Swiping his tongue across her dusky pink nipple, he takes into his mouth and uses his tongue to roll it against the roof of his mouth. She tastes like salted cameral: a little bit sweet and salty, and utterly, indescribably beguiling. He could happily suck on her like the hard candy for the rest of his life, he thinks as he lets her go with a wet pop and moves to her other breast, poking up at him so temptingly. With a moan, Rose arches her back, rakes her fingers through his hair, holding his head as his other hand tugs and teases the moist tip of her other breast.

Restlessly, she moves her hips and raises her knees, pressing them to his sides. Trailing his hand down from her breast, he finds the juncture of her thighs and slides between soft damp curls.

“Doctor!” He loves the way she says his name, changing the ‘or’ to an ‘ah’. Loves it even more when he can hear the rapid beats of her heart, the breathless longing in her voice as he grazes his thumb in slow circles against her clit. “Please!” He presses harder, pinches her between his thumb and finger, rolls and massages her.

Her long exhalation of pleasure and tiny mews send a surge of heat through, make his balls feel heavy, the muscles of his arse clench tight, and his legs tremble as he tries to keep his hips still.  

Running two long tapered fingers up and down the wet lips of her sex, he strokes her as he lifts his head from her breast. “Rose?”

“Yes,” she moans and then cries out, “God yes!” rolling her hips trying to push against hand.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say he’d make a bad god with a cheeky grin, but he has no power here. It’s all hers.  

“Doctor, please!”

She’s hotter than he imagined, like freshly brewed tea. He wants to taste her, sip her like a smoky Lapsang from a fine china cup. _Next time_ , he thinks, watching as her mouth forms a small O as his fingers move back and forth, opening wide and sliding closed.

“Rose?” his voice is low, rough with want.

“Yes! Now!”

He slips his fingers from her, can’t resist a quick taste before he grabs his cock with wet fingers to line himself up.

“Wait!” she cries, holding a hand against his chest.

“W-w-wait?” he stutters, trying to force himself to think past the enticing aromatic scent of her arousal and the sweet-tart taste of her on his lips.

“Condom.”

“Oh yes,” he sighs in relief. “Quite right, too.” He reaches for the inner pocket of jacket and pulls out a silver wrapper.

Rose quirks an eyebrow. “How long have you had that in there?”

Keeping his eyes focused on the foil packet, he clears his throat, fiddling with the tab.

“Doctor?”

“A while,” he finally mutters.

“A while as in this might be a 100 years old? Or –”

He looks at her as if she’s dribbled on her shirt, which promptly causes her to burst into laughter – an odd reaction that’s been happening ever since their run in with the Krillitanes. He suspects its Sarah Jane’s fault.

“All right, all right, not that old then.” She sits up, using an elbow to support herself, and swipes the condom from his hands. Before he can say anything, she rips it open with her teeth.

“You know that’s not very good for your –” Her hand rubs up and down his cock, swirls her thumb on the tip catching some of the wetness there before spreading it down his shaft. “Your teeth,” he groans.

“Making a girl wait isn’t very good either.”

“No, I imagine not,” he hisses as she rolls the condom down.

“Feels different. Thinner.”

“31th century, you lot discover a new material called gummitre. Use it for –” His breath catches as she squeezes him, her hand running lower. “For a variety of things, but, but –” cupping him, she leans forwards to kiss along his collar bones to the junction of his throat “– but it’s…Oh Rose!”

“Tell me more about it later, yeah?” she says, lining him up and pushing the tip of him in.

“Oh yes!” he says, slowly sinking into her.

Time Lords never cursed, not because they didn’t want to, but because their language simply never evolved to have any as there was no purpose to it. It was why they tended to view many species that did as vulgar lower life forms.

But as the Doctor slides into Rose’s warmth, feels the hot wet walls of her sex pulse around him, he decides a little vulgarity is a beautiful thing. “Fuckin’ hell!”

It’s like regeneration, each cell in his body lightening up, cooking something new, but this is infinitely better. _No wonder the French call it la petite mort_ , he thinks, gritting his teeth as every muscle in his body tightens with the need for release, but he holds himself still wanting to feel her around him. 

Or at least he tries to; Rose is having none of it. She plants her feet against the floor and rolls her hips back and up again. He falls, bracing his arms on either side of her. His fingers curl into the jacket against her back, protecting her from the cold grating of the floor.

“A little warning, Rose,” he pants.

“Stop waiting then.” She wraps her arms around him, and lifts her head to rub her nose against his. “Doctor,” she whispers against his mouth, “fuck me.”  

This body had woken up obeying her soft command and the habit appears to have stayed.

His hips jerk back then roll forward, slowly rocking against her trying to find that perfect angle until…

“Ohhhh.”

_Finally._

Putting her gymnastics to use, the Doctor hooks an arm around her knee, stretches her open so he can pound against that perfect spot, hear the slap of their skin as he watches the small beads of sweat pool in the notch of her throat.

Her fingers rake down his back and he knows he’s close, too close. Letting go of her leg, he slips a hand between them, rubs his thumb hard against her clit.

“DOCTOR!”

His loses control of his thrusts as she tightens, squeezes around him.

“Rose!” His voice is so hoarse and low he swears it almost sounds Northern as he lets go.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

He smells the lemon soap of his jacket, feels the soft warmth of Rose rising up and down with each breath, hears the low hum of the TARDIS...he is at peace.

Rose wriggles her hips beneath him. Reluctantly, he pulls himself out of her warmth, making sure to hold the base of the condom before rolling it off and tossing it aside.

 He lies back down, nestling his head between her breasts with a sleepy sight.

“Doctor?” she asks, stroking her fingers along his sideburns through his hair, down along his neck and then his back. She finds his mole between his shoulder blades and traces small circles around it.

He hums against her chest, enjoying the soft lub-dub, lub-dud of her heart against his ear. The sound increases as she runs her toes down the hairs of his leg.

“What kind of refractory period do Time Lords have?”


End file.
